


must be good to you

by rillrill



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, F/M, Face-Sitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The problem with being their own bosses, Kim's decided, is that they're also their own bitches.</i>
</p><p>Tequila and stress relief. Emphasis on the latter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	must be good to you

The tequila comes out from behind the bookshelf on hour five of after-hours paperwork.

The problem with being their own bosses, Kim's decided, is that they're also their own bitches. The bitch work she had to slog through back at HHM to dig her way out of Howard's doghouse? That's her reality now here, too, at least until they've got the steady capital coming in to be able to farm it out to a couple paralegals or even a legal intern or two. And Jimmy's had this thing, lately, about not taking work home with them. She tends to agree. The divide between the office and her house is much too small, and part of her knows this is foolishly idealistic, that she could get twice as much done if she did it when she could, but also: it's getting a little harder to sleep at night in a bed that feels more like a horizontal desk with every passing year.

Kim is good at compartmentalization and she's good at doing the work. She knows these things to be true. But also, she figures: can't bring home work with her if she just doesn't leave.

Still, though, she's not stupid. Doesn't trust herself to do this busywork sloshed, not after the illusion of a minor mistake that narrowly granted her this client anyway. So when Jimmy pulls the bottle of tequila from the cubby hole in her office — a joking little gift he'd bought them both, "to christen" their new venture, she doesn't complain, even though she knows it signals the true end of their workday. She has to admit, she could use this. She says as much as she throws back a shot and leans back in her desk chair. Jimmy’s suit coat hangs on the coat rack at her office door, and his blue shirt is wrinkled, worn from the day. So are his pants. She likes him like this, disheveled.

"Your shoulders are tense," Jimmy comments as his hands descend upon them. He says it with a tone of mild wonder, the way he might remark on a particularly large head of cauliflower or an odd-colored bird. "You should book a spa day. We should book a spa day."

“Why? Did the nail salon sell the vibrating chairs?” Kim's tone is shorter than it needs to be and she cushions the blow by leaning back in her seat, really letting Jimmy get in there. He's got those fantastic hands, and his sleeves rolled up almost to the elbow, cuffed sloppily and revealing a dozen inches of solid forearm. She shifts in her chair. Jimmy's plying her like taffy, stoking her hunger, and — she could eat. She's not starving, but she could eat.

"I'm just saying, you're carrying all the stress of this new place right in your neck," Jimmy says. "Your neck, your back..." There's a smile in his voice as he says it and Kim holds back one to match.

"Right," she says, and straightens up, pours another two shots of tequila. "Wanna loosen up with me, then?"

They clink their little shot glasses together; a mismatched pair from an airport shop in Cabo. The liquor goes down smooth, no need to chase it with a slice of lime, and they both let out a little sigh of relief after. And then Jimmy's mouth is all over her, but not straight on, not the usual path his kissing normally takes — a little looser, just a little messier. Pushing kisses against her jaw and then down her neck, his tongue and teeth working the most sensitive skin there as she groans, uninhibited. He sucks on her pulse points, making her cunt throb; she wants more.

Jimmy takes his time fumbling with the buttons on her button-down. She finally knocks his hand aside to help him out, lets it hang open as he returns his attention to her breasts, one hand on either through the cups of her bra as he teases her sternum with his tongue. She's not into the tease, doesn't want to go slow and fun tonight —

"Floor," she mutters, and as Jimmy jumps to obey, she adds, "no, on your back."

He's grinning at her as he arranges himself on the rough carpet next to her desk, his erection tenting his slacks. Kim feels tall and ridiculous as she kicks off her heels, unzips her skirt and tosses it haphazard over the back of her desk chair. Her underwear are nothing special, black and practical, but Jimmy groans as she hooks her fingers through the waistband and starts to peel them off.

"Please," he groans, his voice going ragged with want at the edges, and her arousal spikes again, unsteady on her long legs. She sits astride his thighs, shirt still half on. This bra, she remembers, clasps in the front. She unclasps it.

“C'mere," Jimmy says again, patting his chest, lifting his hands to run up her smooth thighs. Kim cocks a brow but does as he beckons, ”Don't tease me right now, sweetie, please.” He keeps swiping his tongue nervously over his lips, can't seem to focus his eyes on any one place in particular — he's making a valiant effort to look her in the eyes but his gaze keeps darting back to her cunt. Jimmy moves one hand from her thigh to draw lazy circles over her mound, brushing his thumb over her blonde curls. She shifts on her knees. She wonders if he can feel her wetness through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Kim smirks down at him a little, hears him draw in a sharp breath through his nose. “Say that again,” she says. Unnecessary, but she likes to hear him beg. His fingers dig into her thighs a little tighter. She feels as if she can make out each ridge of his fingerprints as she pushes herself back up onto her knees.  
  
“Please,” he repeats, and then hooks his hands underneath her ass, pulling her forward onto his face. She falls forward with a little gasp, hands bracing her weight on the nubby carpet.  
  
“Shit,” she mutters as he spreads her knees further apart and pushes his tongue between her lips. Fine, yes, she needed this, a decent buzz and Jimmy underneath her, doing what he does best. He drags his tongue up and down her folds, always stopping just short of where she wants him to be, and she fists her hand in his hair with a slight twinge of annoyance, grinding down on his face with her knees spread wide for balance. Jimmy’s eyes gleamed up at her, mischievous and a little bit infuriating.  
  
She grips his head and shoves it against her. Her already thin veneer of patience is beginning to crack open, splitting like a pomegranate and spilling over, rich and wet. Jimmy’s so willing, eager, curling his tongue around her clit as her breath gives way to a throaty moan. She feels her thighs spasm, clenching him tighter around the temples, and he’s breathing hard through his nose, his chest heaving with the effort of it, and then her orgasm hits her like a sledgehammer, making her gasp hard and ragged with the force of it — one and then another in quick succession. The second, somehow, is harder than the first.  
  
She pulls herself away, slides back. Pushes stray tendrils of hair off her face as she lets him breath. “Jesus H.,” Jimmy says, and then coughs a little, before adding, “you’re gonna kill me, Wexler.”  
  
She clears her throat. “Pants. Now.”  
  
“Aye-aye.” She clambers off, helps him shed his pants and boxers, his belt flying across the room haphazard. She hears the clank of the buckle hitting something hard and laughs a little, to herself.  
  
She’s already standing, and her knees are already scraped with rug burn from the economy-brand carpet they’d laid over the slick linoleum of the dentist’s office. Kim thinks it over for a brief moment, and makes the executive decision that she’s not getting back down on that floor. She hops up onto her desk instead, uses one foot to give the leather chair a push that sends it rolling a yard and a half backward, before she spreads her legs a little wider. “Hey,” she says. “We haven’t christened the desk yet, either.”  
  
Jimmy doesn’t have to be told twice; he grabs her ass and pulls her to the very front of the desk, lining his cock up with her cunt. “Sure we haven’t,” he says, rubbing the head over her lips, making her squirm a little. “Lot of places we haven’t fucked in here. Up against the water cooler, over the reception desk—“  
  
“Shut up,” she groans as he pushes inside her. She wraps her legs around his waist, entwines herself around him like a python. He nuzzles into her neck, kisses the tender places he’d sucked little marks into, and she’s so wet that she can hear him start to fuck her in long rough strokes, hands still clasped under her ass, lifting her just far enough off the desk for leverage —  
  
“‘M just saying, this is our domain,” he rasps against her neck. “We can, ah, master it—”  
  
“Shut _up_.” She bites down on his shoulder for emphasis.  
  
“—if we…” He seems to think better of the tangent and lets it peter out as he fucks her harder, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. She clenches around his cock, grinds the heels of her hands into the top of the desk for leverage of her own. He keeps hitting her g-spot, the way he’s angled, keeps slamming against her just right —  
  
“Stay right there,” she orders, “just keep doing that, but harder,” and she hears him inhale sharply and then he speeds up —  
  
She concentrates, closes her eyes, tenses herself and tightens and tightens and then she slams her hand back against the desk as it hits her, harder and more forceful than the two on the floor. Grits out his name, tongue between her teeth, and that makes him shoot off with a strangled _Kim_ against her neck.  
  
The urge to laugh hits her sideways, and she contains it with no more than a huff of amusement, exhaling into his freckled shoulder as he softens inside her. Pulls her face up, licks her lips delicately as her eyes meet his, and then Jimmy kisses her softly, straight on. “Master of our domain,” she repeats as they break away, her voice bone dry, and she sees him cringe and then crumble into laughter of his own.  
  
“It’s the stress. It’s getting to me.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“The whole thing.”  
  
She lets that pass. She lets a lot of things pass. She clasps her bra, which is still dangling from her shoulders like some kind of vest — “Aw,” Jimmy half-pouts, like he’s never seen a pair of breasts before — and then untangles her blouse where it ended up on the desk. Jimmy’s in the process of dressing himself, retrieving article after article of clothing where they ended up strewn around the room. Kim watches him idly, his nice shoulders, cute ass. She could use a cigarette. Her lips are parched, throat is dry. She could use a glass of water.  
  
“We should head home,” she says instead, and Jimmy glances over at her from where he’s buttoning his shirt across the room.  
  
“Yeah?” he says. “Ready to call it a night? It’s only, ah, ten forty-seven. Sure you don’t want to see the sun come up over the parking lot?”  
  
She rolls her eyes, lets that slide too. Catches her skirt as he tosses it at her, rolls her eyes again as he tucks her underwear into his own pants pockets. Steadies herself on his shoulder as she shoves her feet into her shoes.  
  
“Hey,” he says quietly, and kisses her on the cheek. “I got you.”  
  
“You’ve got me,” she repeats, just as quiet. Nothing else need be said.  
  
The crickets chirping in the parking lot outside rival the metallic, fluorescent hum of the overhead streetlights. She can barely hear her heels clicking on the asphalt on the way to her car at all.


End file.
